Indefinite (Salvation #6)(66)

It’s like déjà vu all over again. The cramping will worsen and then there will be no options.

I’ll lose the baby. I’ll lose Quinn. I’ll be alone again.

“Okay, can you get into the city or would you rather go to the hospital in Brooklyn and I’ll meet you there?”

“No, I can come there. It’s probably nothing, but I’m. . . nervous.”

Clara’s voice is calm and soothing. “Take a deep breath, relax, and meet me here.”

I nod. “I can’t get a hold of Quinn and . . . I’m scared, Clara.”

I’m so afraid this is going to be my life. I’ll get pregnant and then my body will fail me. I’m just over fifteen weeks. This shouldn’t be happening. We were smart and careful and we did everything right. I stopped working for fuck’s sake. I’m not on my feet for too long. I always take care of myself.

“Okay, I want you to take a cab here. It could be nothing, Ashton. How much blood was it?”

“Not a lot. I mean, there was definitely blood.”

“All right. Come in and I’ll get you in immediately.”

I try to control my breathing, but I feel as though my lungs are being ripped from my chest.

Staying calm has to be my priority. The more upset I get, the worse this will be. Somehow I manage to get a text out to Quinn.



Me: I’m trying to get a hold of you, but you’re not answering. I’m heading to see Clara. Meet me there.





No response.



Me: Please just text me back. I’m starting to worry.





Still nothing.

I try some yoga breaths, hoping to relax enough to get myself to the office.

My legs feel uneasy as I make my way to the cab. I give him the address and then call Mark. Whatever Quinn was doing, he’d check in with him, right?

“Hey, Red.”

“Mark, something’s wrong. I’m going to the doctor now, but I can’t find Quinn.”

I don’t have time to sugar coat anything, and while Mark may be a jackass, he would never joke when there’s distress.

“Okay, when did you last talk to him?”

“I don’t know, maybe a half hour ago. He said he was on his way but was working on something.”

Mark’s voice is deep and there’s no playfulness now. “Let me track his location. He checked in from the coffee shop, but that was about a half hour ago.” I chew on my thumbnail, feeling as if I could pass out at any moment. “It says he’s at a parking garage, but . . .”

Dread fills me. “But what?”

“Nothing. Let me try him, but don’t worry, Ash. Quinn is the best, I’m sure he just dropped his phone.”

Quinn is the best, which means that he doesn’t drop things like his phone. “Mark . . .”

“I’ll call you back.”

He doesn’t want to tell me. I’ve been on the receiving end of a Mark Dixon call about bad news. I heard his voice when he told Catherine that Jackson was shot. I heard all about how he was the one who told Natalie about Aaron. Mark has been the bearer of bad news too many times.

When I thought about losing Quinn a little while ago, this wasn’t what I was thinking.

My hand clutches my chest as I pray for the first time in a very long time, hoping my mother’s efforts afford me a little good grace.

“Dear God, please let this baby be okay. Please don’t let me lose another one, and please don’t let anything be wrong with Quinn,” I whisper each word as the cabbie drives over the bridge. “Please don’t take everything I love in one day. I can’t . . . I can’t.” A sob breaks from my chest, and I clasp my hand over my mouth, silently saying the rest because I can’t say it aloud. “I can’t live through it.”





34


Quinn





Fucking hell, my head. That’s the only thought that registers. Something hit me, and my head is throbbing. My hands go to move around, but they’re bound.

What the fuck?

I try to gather my thoughts, but it hurts to think.

Hell, it hurts to think about thinking.

Slowly, I start to assemble a plan. First, figure out where I am.

Honing on my sense of touch, I use the little room I have with my fingers and feel what I can. It’s cheap carpet. I move my feet, and when I push, my head slams into something hard and lights dance inside my eyelids. Jesus, I’m in a trunk of a car.

Okay, calm down and think.

I was following him, and we went to a garage. There were three people, and I saw two leave. How the fuck could I be so stupid?

Another few minutes go by, and my head hurts worse than anything I’ve ever felt before, which is saying something considering I went through an IED explosion. I try to get some kind of upper hand, working the knots on my wrist, but whoever tied these wasn’t an amateur.

Once again, I refocus. What do I remember? A face? A voice? Anything familiar?

No.

I’m struggling to get my brain to connect any dots or pick out any clues, but there are none.

Nothing about this makes sense. Why the hell was I grabbed? No one should have known I was there unless someone was following me.

But who?